


autumn leaves

by tyche (marzipan_bubbles)



Series: Wondrous Tails of FFXIV 2020 [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Daydreaming, Drunk crying, I had to do it to em, More Pining, Multi, Pining, Pranks, Serenading, Support Networks, and that's how i ended up here, does this count as astral projecting?, emotional constipation looking @ you graha tia, established relationships - Freeform, ever wonder what would happen if you shipped your wol with everyone? me too, graha kind of has a death wish, hand holding but it means a lot, it's all out of order oops, lavishing each other with attention, more ships to come!, navigating new relationships, nobody in eorzea can drive and thats a fact, oh that's a lot of angst, physical affection, please look forward to it, sharing aether, sharing memories, so we be flying instead, spoilers lordt there are spoilers here, teaching people how to fly, these prompts are just falling from my hands, warrior combat, you can look at hallura and thancred from any angle you want tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23293828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marzipan_bubbles/pseuds/tyche
Summary: memories rain from the sky like leaves from trees in the fall; we can't help but reach to catch each one before they crumble.a collection of works about the warrior of light and the people she's tied to, sometimes with a neat little bow and sometimes with a bunch of tangled knots. uses prompts from this year's Wondrous Tails event!
Relationships: Alisaie Leveilleur & Warrior of Light, Ardbert & Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Warrior of Light & Thancred Waters, Warrior of Light/Thancred Waters, Ysayle Dangoulain & Warrior of Light
Series: Wondrous Tails of FFXIV 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668787
Comments: 15
Kudos: 43





	1. on a team together (exarch)

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello! here's a bunch of writing about my warrior of light, hallura, and pretty much every npc ship i've ever thought about with her. some of it's spicy, some of it's sweet, and almost all of it is what i consider to be her canon, but not everything will be in chronological order because :^) i'm a clown who has no sense of order and who also likes the angst that arises from reading this stuff as it comes! i hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how many years has it been?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hallura/exarch, though we all know who it REALLY is. and yeah i spent like an hour transcribing the solo duty dialogue i have no shame :^)

The Exarch is surprised when Hallura volunteers (or perhaps volun- _tells_ ) him for the task.

He supposes that she’s in the right - how many times has she been volunteered by others for things she didn’t expect to do? Still, he can’t help the way his eyebrows raise under his hood and how his lips quirk into a grin (nor can he fight the way his old, broken heart quickens in his chest, beneath cold blue crystal). 

Her invitation - or command, but he doesn’t care - is flattering. He hopes that nobody sees how he immediately lifts himself to stand a little taller, how he preens a little under her indirect praise.

“Rest assured you’ll be safe from enemy dwarves,” Hallura tells Korutt, the combat skill-bereft miner meant to accompany them. The Exarch stifles a laugh at the dwarves, who still look unconvinced.

“We will most assuredly encounter sin eaters on the way,” he tells their merry band, unable to disguise the amusement in his voice. He turns to Hallura, adding, “Though, with you in our company, they will be more a spectacle than a concern.”

Hallura rests a hand on her hip and gives him a smirk -  _ that _ smirk, the one she would give G’raha Tia when she meant to toy with him, so very long ago, and the Exarch is grateful that his cowl can mask his blush. “I hope I don’t disappoint,” she sniffs, and  _ oh_, if only she knew that he could never be disappointed by her. The moment is broken, though, when she turns away from him to face their charge. “You have your tools, Korutt? Let’s be off, then!”

As the Exarch trails behind Hallura, a million things float through his mind - namely how this can’t possibly be a good idea. What if he isn’t up to par? What if he can’t keep up with her? After all, he is merely running on borrowed power, borrowed time - surely he will let her down.

But then, what does it matter to her? To him? The Exarch is merely an old man meant to pull the strings of this grand, terrible play, and she is the show’s star, meant to outshine them all. He isn’t G’raha Tia, not anymore - he has no reason to wish to stand beside her.

“Exarch! Come walk with us!” Korutt’s cheerful innocence pulls him from his many self doubts, and he covers them all up with a smile, jogging to catch up (he pretends that he doesn’t notice how Hallura’s gaze follows him the whole way).

“It seems we have plenty of ground to cover until we reach the mines,” the Exarch observes, peering across the hilly landscape. 

“Yes! But that means plenty of time to tell me about yourselves,” Korutt interjects, pivoting to face the Exarch and Hallura as they walk. “You’re quite the pair, waltzing into Tomra like that! We haven’t had outsiders visit for ages! Who are you? Where do you come from?”

A pair? What a flattering description - the Exarch knows that Hallura’s presence overshadows any that  _ he _ must have. He makes to answer, but is interrupted by a small patrol of sin eaters swooping down from the sky. “Hallura,” he says, drawing his staff, “the left is yours.”

“Easy,” she tosses back at him, readying her blade - the way she clutches this new, unfamiliar greatsword is enticing to him. “I’ll take care of Korutt. Watch out for yourself!” And then she’s leaping into battle, and he dives in after her, swept up in the thrill of combat.

Even as they dance separately, it’s like the Exarch can feel Hallura at his side the entire fight - the sound of her sword, the taste of her magics in the air - he thinks they must stand back to back at one point, his robes brushing the backs of her legs. They attack in sync, matching each other strike for spell, effortless in their actions (in its stony prison, his heart wonders if this is what it could have been like - what it  _ would _ have been like, if G’raha Tia had stayed with her all those years ago).

It is fast, easy work, and the way Korutt claps in excitement upon their victory warms him. “Amazing!” the dwarf cries, running to catch up. “You’re both really strong!”

He cannot realize the error of his compliment, of course. It won’t do for Korutt to be making comparisons where none should rightfully exist. The Exarch grins. “It may interest you to know that Hallura is the greatest hero in the land whence she hails. Some would say the  _ greatest. _ ”

“You flatter me, Exarch,” Hallura chuckles, stowing her sword. Still, she smiles at him and presses on.

“Hardly,” the Exarch retorts, keeping pace beside her long strides. He steals a glance at her, and the way her short hair rustles in the wind does something to his mind. “I don’t exaggerate.”

Korutt latches onto the Exarch’s praise easily. “Really?! Oh, you must have some great stories to tell, Hallura!” 

What stories would she tell? the Exarch wonders. Tales of the fight against Garlemald? Of Ishgard and the Dragonsong War? Or maybe, just maybe, the story of a tower made of crystal, and her journey to reclaim its secrets? 

(Would she tell the world of him - the foolish boy who joined her and fell in love along the way?)

The Exarch shakes his head. “That she does,” he says, praying his voice doesn’t sound hopeful, that his companions cannot hear his yearning. “Tales to impress and inspire you in turn. By all means, have her regale you with a few once our work is done.”

“You speak so fondly of my accomplishments,” Hallura cuts in, and there’s a gentle something in her voice. The Exarch cannot tell what it is, but to him it is a warning: he is being effusive in his praise, and no doubt it is suspicious.

Luckily for him, more sin eaters descend on their party. “Stay behind us, Korutt,” he says, readying himself. For a curse, there are more than before - easy to dispatch, though not to come without bruises. The Exarch grimaces.

“Worried?” Hallura’s voice chimes in - and then he’s being enveloped by magic. A shield - he looks to her in surprise, but he only catches her smile over her shoulder before she’s gone. It makes him stupidly giddy, and as he fights not even his hood can hide the joy on his face. 

More enemies abound; out of the corner of his eye, the Exarch catches some sneaking up from behind. “Hallura, I leave the enemy to you! I will defend Korutt,” he shouts, tying his aether to the defenseless dwarf’s.

“I’ll make this quick!” she calls back, but not before snapping her fingers to shroud him with another magical shield. It’s so assured, so simple, and so telling, how she cares for others (how she cares for  _ him_).

It’s over swiftly - these lesser eaters don’t stand a chance against Hallura’s might, and she’s there to aid him before the mindless creatures can do more than tousle the Exarch’s robes. She offers him a hand to steady him after his tie to Korutt ends, and though every logical part of him sternly tells him it’s a terrible idea, he lets himself take it (and if he relishes the warmth of her skin against his, it’s a sin he doesn’t mind committing). 

“You’re alright?” she asks him; she’s so close he can catch a whiff of her scent. He pulls his hand back, pretending he doesn’t see the way her lips turn down.

“Thanks to you I am,” the Exarch replies, locking his arm to his side. It burns where her fingers had touched. He gives her a tight smile.

“And thanks to  _ you, _ I’m alright too!” Korutt says, jumping up in victory. The Exarch is grateful for his interruption, until Korutt continues, “I don’t know much about fighting, but you two make a great team!” 

“You two”, “team” - these words fill the Exarch with chagrin. Such easy things inspire an old, hidden part of him with hope that isn’t his to have. “Hallura is a team unto herself,” he corrects, “I merely follow her lead.”

“Well, it looks like you’ve been doing this for years to me!” Korutt exclaims, unfazed by the Exarch’s correction. 

Hallura’s stare sears him through his robes, past his skin, deep, deep into the recesses of his very being.

“...Is that so?” the Exarch murmurs, fingers gripping his staff tightly. “I...I shall take that as a compliment.”

Korutt finally seems to pick up on his reluctance. “Did...did I say something wrong?” the young dwarf frets.

The Exarch allows himself a shake of his head, and a shaky smile. “Not at all,” he reassures Korutt. “Your words are most heartening. Indeed, I feel like a young man again.” Beside him, Hallura chuckles, and he feels himself blushing again. Korutt quirks his head to the side, confused by the exchange.

“You talk as if you’re old! How long have you two known each other, anyway?” the dwarf presses, glancing between Hallura and the Exarch. If it were possible the Exarch thinks his ears might have flattened even further in embarrassment.

“Long enough to matter,” Hallura answers before the Exarch can. She doesn’t turn back to look at him, for which he’s grateful - his jaw drops, lips parting in surprise. Her words are ambiguous, but her tone...

(Does she...could it be that she..?)

But he has no time to ponder her meaning, as the sin eaters return to accost them. He falls into their routine with ease - he defends Korutt, and she defends  _ him_, and they run smoother than clockwork. Wave after wave; together they press through to the mouth of the mines, and for the first time in many, many years, the Exarch feels nothing but confidence and pride.

“And you said  _ I  _ was impressive,” Hallura offers after he casts down a rain of fire on the last eaters of one wave. “I’d say your little trick there was nothing to sneeze at, Exarch.”

“It was a trick, nothing more,” he replies, but he lets himself bask just a bit under her praise. Their party falls into comfortable silence as they make the final push towards their goal, and all seems well until the Exarch finds himself bested by a particularly robust sin eater.

“Ugh!” Despite his attempts to stand his ground, he’s knocked back, barely managing to snatch Korutt from the jaws of death with him. Dazed, he does his best to heal himself and Korutt, hoping he can be quick enough to save them; the energies of the Tower are thin here, and he will not be able to stop a second hit - 

“Hands off!” Hallura howls from beyond, and then she’s jumping high enough to slash at the sin eater’s wings - the beast turns its horrible attentions to her, allowing the Exarch enough time to heal and push Korutt to safety. Hallura continues her assault on the monstrous sin eater. He scrambles to support her, casting as quickly as he can to put it down.

They’re winning, it’s dying, until it lets out a terrible cry that brings everyone to their knees. “Not now!” the Exarch gasps, clutching at his head. He sees Hallura similarly incapacitated, and struggles to fight off the staggering pain (he has to help her, she needs him, she needs him).

“I think not!” he snarls, rising to his feet. “Your tale will not end here, Lura!”

With every ounce of strength he can muster, he casts one final, powerful flare at the sin eater’s feet. For a heartbeat everything is stopped, as though his cast has halted the flow of time - but then his spell is blooming magnificently into chaotic existence, blasting the monster off balance and shaking the ground around them.

If he didn’t know better the Exarch would think that Hallura understood the very thoughts in his mind. Recovered from her blows, she takes the opportunity the Exarch has given her, and leaps up to plunge her sword into the sin eater’s undefended chest -

-and just like that, it’s over. The creature explodes into tiny motes of light, its essence scattering to the winds. Hallura rises from the ground; framed by the light, wind tousling her hair, and that look in her eyes - the Exarch is painfully reminded just how beautiful he has always thought her to be.

As she approaches him, his heart speeds up once more (it may as well shatter the crystal cage he keeps it in, for all it’s beat today). “My friend,” he breathes, “thank you for saving us once more.”

“I only did half the saving,” Hallura says, letting out a long exhale. “You fought well, Exarch. I’m proud to have fought alongside you, again.”

Again, she says. Does she mean Holminster? Or perhaps - 

_ No. _ She cannot mean that. Those thoughts are forbidden. The Exarch shoves down the part of him, the other part of him, down into the prison he’s kept for so long, and smiles for her.

“The honor was mine, Hallura,” he tells her, and when she smiles back his heart breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr! https://alamhigyoooo.tumblr.com/


	2. love languages (aymeric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how wonderful that they understand each other so well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hallura/aymeric :^) thanks heavensward for this full-course meal of a ship

“How is it that you always know what to say?” Hallura murmurs out of nowhere, head resting in Aymeric’s lap. He looks up from the book he’s reading and chuckles, combing his hands through her long hair. 

“I pay attention,” he says with a smile. He feels her sigh a little and sets down the novel on the bedside table. “When we’re apart I try to read the lines of your handwriting, and when we’re together I see the way you carry your heart in your actions. It’s only natural I should understand you by now.” 

Understand, certainly, but Aymeric thinks that _feel_ is a better word. Ever since they first met, Hallura has worn her emotions on her sleeve, and as they’ve grown closer over the years he’s slowly been swept up in the pure feeling nature of everything she does. The passion she inspires in him is a luxury few politicians of his caliber may have - but the bond she has chosen to share with him is a treasure that even fewer may ever know.

“You understand me _too_ well,” Hallura mumbles, an audible pout in her voice. She shifts, turning over to lock eyes with him. Hesitantly, she says, “I feel like I’m always stumbling over my words and you can just...say everything right.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” he replies, smiling languidly down at her. “Though I’d say all my experience vanishes when it comes to you.”

“Don’t tease,” she laughs, taking the pillow she’d been holding and batting at his shoulder with it. Aymeric laughs back, wrestling it gently from her grasp to catch her wrist and press a kiss to it. 

“It’s true, my love,” he says, entwining their fingers. Hallura gives him a weak smile, and he feels his heart twinge a little. Her reflectiveness is indicative of a deep conflict occupying her thoughts. It is the first time they’ve spent time together like this for several weeks - there are doubtless a million things she must be thinking of that she couldn’t put into writing when they were apart. “What’s on your mind, Lura?” Aymeric asks, smoothing a thumb over her forehead with his free hand.

Hallura presses her lips together tightly. Aymeric can see her planning out what to say and waits patiently for her to put the words together.

“It’s the Scions,” she sighs eventually, and he doesn’t miss the way her voice wavers. His heart pangs again, thinking of Hallura’s loyal companions lying still in their beds. “I’ve done my crying but I just...I can’t stop thinking that this is it. That this is the end for us - and I never got to tell them how much they mean to me.”

“I see.” Aymeric doesn’t say anything more, waiting for her to continue.

“I just -” Hallura presses a hand to her eyes, obscuring her face. “I feel like they were always there and waiting for me to say something. And I tried to - I did try to talk to them or tell them I was thankful to have them at my side. But I can’t stop thinking that maybe it wasn’t enough. They never said anything about it and I’m afraid they’re going to die frustrated that I never said I loved them properly.”

She pauses, then peeks through her fingers up at him, adding, “This is the part where you come up with something magical to say that floors me and makes me feel silly for not thinking of it sooner.”

Aymeric can’t help laughing. Even in adversity, she manages to make him smile. “I’m flattered by your faith in my speaking skills,” he says with a shake of his head. “But,” he continues, tapping on her shoulder - she moves off his lap to her side of the bed, so that he might lie down beside her - “I think you aren’t giving yourself the credit that you deserve.”

“And what credit would that be?” Hallura asks, an eyebrow raised, tucking her arm beneath her pillow.

“That you love those close to you without saying it,” he replies, propping himself up on his arm. “There are a good many people in this world who talk thrice as much as you and still fail to communicate half of what you simply do without words.”

Hallura frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You love by example,” Aymeric says, reaching over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Do you recall the night you stayed with Alisaie before the liberation of Ala Mhigo?”

_(Alisaie is frustrated about being left behind while I go to Ala Mhigo, and I thought if I left Alphinaud to comfort her she might have punched him. So I sat with her tonight in the infirmary and taught her how to braid, and I let her practice on my hair after I’d done hers. I think it helped her - she fell asleep after that and looked peaceful. I can come to the front lines much happier knowing that she’ll be alright.)_

Perhaps it’s strange - but Aymeric remembers every letter Hallura has ever written him. He remembers arriving at Porta Praetoria and unfolding that note from her, how he had smiled at the warm affection Hallura gave so easily. He has always been touched by her letters, simple acts that show she’s thinking of him, proof that she wants to share the little moments of her life with him.

Across from him, Hallura smiles, blinking slowly. “I remember. I braided her hair that night.”

“And you remember why you did?”

Hallura snorts, snuggling her face into her pillow just a little. “Yes. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t worrying herself to death before we left the next day. It was me or Alphinaud, and she would probably have strangled him.”

“You did it to comfort her,” Aymeric agrees. “Because you knew that actions would soothe her better than words.”

“I suppose I did,” Hallura muses, her voice a little distant. He reaches across the sheets again and takes her hand.

“That knowledge is a gift, my love,” he tells her, rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. “You don’t need words to tell people how you feel. There’s not a thing you do that lacks meaning, whether you realize it or not.”

After all, Aymeric thinks, that’s why he fell in love with Hallura. In the cold, bitter politics of Ishgard, honesty is difficult to come by, and her refreshing openness attracted him to (and then kept him by) her side. 

As if she can read his mind, Hallura lifts her head up. “Words, deeds, and beliefs,” she says - and at first Aymeric doesn’t take her meaning, until she smirks at him and he realizes she’s quoting him from their very first meeting, at the intercessory in Camp Dragonhead.

“Sharp as ever,” he says, pleased by her quickness. “You know that’s why I followed you then, and why I’ll follow you anywhere now.”

The gentle flush of her cheeks fills him with emotion. “Am I really so easy to read?” she asks him, white eyes earnest. “Doing just comes naturally. I never really thought it was complicated.”

“The simplicity is what makes it beautiful. Your love isn’t complicated, and that makes it easy to understand and receive. The Scions know you love them, because you show that you love them every day. You don’t have to worry about whether they know.”

“I guess you’re right.” Hallura offers him a gentle smile, exhaling slowly. “And what about you?”

“Hm?” he says, cocking his head.

“You know I love you?”

Aymeric loves the way she says it, so quietly that it could only ever be meant for _his_ ears - not even the gods are privy to the intimacy they share. “I do,” he whispers back, reaching out to pull her into his arms. She presses her nose to his collarbone, and he feels the flutter of her eyelashes against his neck. 

“Thank you, Aymeric,” Hallura says, lips moving softly against his chest. “Thank you for talking with me.”

“You don’t even have to ask, Lura,” he tells her, kissing the top of her head. “My words are yours, now and always. I love you.”

  
_I love you, too,_ she says, with the way her arms wrap around his body and the ease with which she falls asleep in his embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr! https://alamhigyoooo.tumblr.com/


	3. learning secrets (thancred)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> of course thancred is the one she tells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for depictions of vomiting and alcoholism!!!! this takes place during the events of ARR; hallura/thancred is one of my favorite dynamics because it's so complicated :^) hallura definitely wasn't coping with very healthy mechanisms by this point...but she grew!

_Thancred will understand._

_Thancred will understand,_ Hallura thinks, as she stumbles through the hallways of the Waking Sands. _Thancred has secrets, too, and lots of them. He will understand._

_Where...where is his room? Which one is his door?_ She fumbles against the wall, trying and failing to count the doors since she started walking. She’s far too drunk to count properly - but it can’t hurt to try, can it?

“One….two...three...no... _three..._ damnit,” she slurs, pausing to lean against the wall and clutch her forehead in a vain attempt to steady herself. She doesn’t remember why she drank so much tonight - no, that’s a lie, of course she does. The Echo, the _stupid_ Echo, going and showing her things she didn’t need to see. Things she doesn’t _want_ to see. 

And like all the other times Hallura’s tried to drink the Echo away, the memories persist, while her inebriation has probably crossed into the realm of dangerous. But she _needs_ to find Thancred, she _needs to,_ he’ll understand.

She’s about to slip to the floor, when - Twelve be praised - the door across from her opens up to reveal just the person she’s looking for. Hazel-brown eyes meet hers, full of surprise and - and something else. “Thancred,” she breathes, just before her knees give out and she slides against the wall to the ground.

“Hallura,” he greets her back, rushing over to her side. “I see you dove deep into your cups tonight. Without me, too.”

“‘m not sure if you’d’ve wanted to share these cups with me,” she groans, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “Thancred, I need to - I -”

She’s cut off by a massive wave of nausea, and she feels the blood drain from her face. If Thancred’s expression is anything to go by, he sees it too, and hurriedly hooks his arms under hers.

“Up we go now, Hallura,” he says, and she struggles to help him help _her_ off the floor and into his room. “Let’s get you into some privacy, shall we?”

“Sounds good,” she wheezes, gripping the door frame to his room tightly as they pass through. That’s the last thing she remembers before her stomach decides it’s fed up with her drinking and she’s on her knees, clutching her gut and retching.

Hazily, she realizes Thancred has somehow managed to get a chamber pot under her so she can vomit without making too much of a mess; he’s holding her hair back with one hand, rubbing her back with the other, and the circular motions of his palm soothe the fire in her throat just a little.

But then she’s retching back into the pot, and her world is the sting of tears, the burn of too much alcohol finding its way back up, and a ringing in her ears that makes everything spin. 

“There now,” Thancred’s voice comes through, warped through her stupor. “Let it out.”

And let it out she does. If she were more sober, maybe she’d care that the walls of the Sands are not terribly soundproof, but she’s drunk and sad and so, _so_ tired of the Echo, so she lets herself sob into the pot, messy and loud and stupidly hurt. Thancred’s hand does not stop its gentle reassurance, and she thinks he’s managed to tie her hair up so it doesn’t hang in her face while she cries.

Hallura’s not sure how much time passes - a few minutes, maybe - but she quickly runs out of tears and ends up dry-heaving on sobs, and it’s at that point that Thancred sits her against the wall and steps away to fetch a cloth to clean her face.

“Quite a frenzy you’ve worked yourself into,” he comments, voice neutral. Hallura wishes she were sober enough to read into his words.

“It’s - it’s stupid,” she hiccups, leaning her head back obediently so Thancred can dab at her tear-stained cheeks and clean her spit-drenched lips. “I’m being...so _stupid._ But I can’t - I can’t do it without...without it…”

_Without the drinks, I will continue to see things I wish I never had to see again._

“You needn’t explain yourself to me,” Thancred shushes her, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead. Hallura just blinks blearily, too weary to do more than wait. “I must say, though, this is a first for you. Normally we’ll drink ourselves stupid together and cry in our rooms apart.”

“I came here to talk - I need to talk to you,” Hallura says in a rush, trying to push herself up only for Thancred to press her shoulders back to the wall.

“Also a first,” he chuckles, rising to dispose of the towel and push the used chamber pot aside. “You don’t tend to come here unless you’re _not_ looking to talk.”

“Mmm...maybe when I sober up I can repay you,” she mutters, making a mental note that she’ll surely forget later. 

“Another time,” Thancred tells her, coming back to offer her a hand. “Are you strong enough to stand up, or shall I carry you to bed?”

“You carry _me…_ that’s funny,” Hallura laughs, taking his hand and doing her best to pull up to her feet. It’s a near miss, but thankfully Thancred is there to steady her and guide her to his bed. He sits her down on the edge of the mattress, kneeling to help her remove her boots. 

“You just about fainted, trying to get here to see me,” he remarks, tugging off her shoes one at a time. “What is so urgent that you couldn’t wait, my dear?”

“Need to tell you a secret,” Hallura slurs out, feeling the room spin a little. She does her best to steady herself against the mattress, leaning back on her two hands.

“A secret?” Thancred sounds amused, rising to face her at full height. “Hallura Ostyrsyn, having a secret? I labour to believe it.”

_Hit the nail on the head._ “That’s it,” she says, poking a finger to his chest. “That’s my secret.”

“I don’t take your meaning, love,” Thancred chuckles.

“My secret.” _Tell him, tell him, he’ll understand._ “My name isn’t Hallura Ostyrsyn.”

To her surprise, Thancred reacts with silence, the only sign he’d heard her being a quirk of his eyebrows. He folds his arms across his chest and stares hard at her.

“I’m adopted,” Hallura clarifies, tapping her chest with a fist. 

After a pause, Thancred says wryly, “I gathered as much, what with you being a Hyur and your parents being Roegadyn who look nothing like you.”

“No, no,” Hallura protests. “You’re not getting it. I’m adopted.”

“Yes, Hallura, you said that.”

“I’m adopted,” she repeats, but this time she reaches out and grabs his tunic to pull him closer to her. He lets out a surprised noise, and she draws him close, so close their noses are almost touching. White locks with hazel, and she lets the truth out for the first time in gods know how many years.

**“I was born in Ala Mhigo. My real name is Hallura Kaine.”**

Shock blooms in Thancred’s gaze. He searches her intoxicated eyes, surely looking for a lie, but Hallura just stares back because if there is a single truth in her life, it is this.

“My name is Hallura Kaine.” She lets go of his tunic, and they drift apart ever so slightly.

“That’s…fascinating,” Thancred finally says, brow furrowed, the gears clearly turning in his head. “I...we knew you couldn’t have been born to your family, and there were certainly guesses about where you came from, but…”

_Maybe he knows about mother, and how she wore red the day she went to die, and father, who died in a city that wasn’t his to protect his family._

“That’s why I came here tonight,” Hallura says miserably. “‘s why I got so drunk tonight.”

“To tell me the truth?” He sounds a little disbelieving.

“No. No. I had...the Echo.”

“The Echo?” Thancred sighs. “Hallura, if it’s something concerning the Echo, you should really be speaking with Minfilia -”

“No!” Hallura shouts, shaking her head and feeling tears well up in her eyes again. Her outburst startles Thancred, who takes a step back. “Minfilia doesn’t understand,” Hallura insists. “Her Echo...her Echo is a gift. I’m not like that. My Echo is bad.”

“What do you mean?” He approaches the bed slowly, sitting down beside her gently.

“Mine...my Echo. My past. I can’t - I can’t forget anything. Everything that’s ever happened to me...I see it again and again. I can’t control it.”

_Mother died, and father died, and Somaya went with him. And nobody knows except Ma and Pa, and even they don’t know what really happened._

“I see.” Thancred sounds pensive. “And did you have a vision of your...of your past tonight?”

Hallura nods wordlessly, feeling her lips tremble. “‘m so tired of them, Thancred, so tired. I don’t want these visions, I want to _forget_ what I saw, but the damn Echo won’t let it go.” And gods, she’s crying again, she’s supposed to be stronger than this - but it feels so _good_ to tell someone the truth, and she buries her face in her hands.

_I can be honest. I_ deserve _to be honest._

“It’s alright, Hallura,” Thancred murmurs from beside her. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close to him, so that she leans against his shoulder. 

“You - promise you won’t tell anyone?” she sniffs, feeling herself getting drowsy. Deep down, she knows she can trust Thancred - it’s why she came here in the first place, after all - but she can’t help asking anyway.

“Of course, Hallura,” he agrees, and there’s something in his voice Hallura can’t understand through the fog of exhaustion and alcohol. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr! https://alamhigyoooo.tumblr.com/


	4. domestic habits (aymeric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> neither of them are sure when less becomes more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some glimpses into hallura and aymeric's relationship as it progresses, and how they walked (not fell!!!) into love.

Hallura notices when Aymeric starts preparing tea for her in the mornings. 

At first he simply splits his usual serving in half to share with her, though Hallura has to drink it down like it’s water in her haste to leave before anyone catches them. She has never been a tea drinker, but it’s rude to decline, so she takes it anyways. They exchange quick goodbyes as she laces up her armor, and then she’s gone, off to another task or journey, trying to forget the memories of the night before.

Then there are two cups, and Hallura finds herself waking up earlier so she can sit with Aymeric by the window and make small talk while they watch the dawn bleed into the night sky. The hearth is warm at their backs, and she tries not to think too hard about the way he drapes a blanket over her bare shoulders. In her calloused hands, the teacup is delicate and elegant, foreign and fragile, and a reminder of everything she isn’t. 

They continue like this for a long while - an unspoken agreement, an extra line written into their private contract. She rises with him and stokes the fire back to life while he puts water into a kettle and brews tea for them both. It’s a gentle peace, but she knows if she puts words to her thoughts the illusion will break, and anything is better than facing the truth. 

It frustrates and soothes her, the way Aymeric treats her so well. She almost wishes that he would stop and simply tell her how he feels, break the spell so she could confront how he makes her feel and move on. 

Still, what’s one more sin to their secret, so she plays along and pretends she’s not afraid.

__

Aymeric knows that Hallura is a restless sleeper.

He doesn’t notice it right away; in the beginning they exhaust all their energy in their passion, succumbing quickly to sleep. Hallura falls asleep first, a pillow tucked under her arm and her back turned to Aymeric; he follows her shortly after, aching muscles and heart soothed by the presence of someone sharing his bed.

But then it changes. They start to stay up after seeing to each other’s pleasure, turning to each other and talking - about Ishgard, about the Scions, menial things that somehow manage to fill the time without being mundane. Gone are the wordless nights, and they fall asleep face to face, smiles on their lips. 

It’s like this that Aymeric hears her sleep talking for the first time. He is a light sleeper, so when Hallura begins to murmur quietly in the night he can’t help but rise to wakefulness. 

Sometimes he understands her. She can be meticulous, running numbers and telling someone off for poor book-keeping - “Are you trying to short-change me?!” She can be funny, bantering with her friends over which tavern they should solicit next - “We’re going to the Wench, Kies, Baderon owes me a free drink!” Aymeric laughs on these nights, trying not to watch her lips in the faint light of the room.

Some nights she’s sad; she talks to her mother, or at least he thinks it’s her mother, about her father - “Was he ill again? Has he gotten better?” She sighs in disappointment, and Aymeric feels his heart clench in sympathy.

But it's when Hallura doesn't talk that he feels both closest and most distant from her. Those nights, he is awoken by a low keen, and when he turns to look at her, he’ll find her curled tight into a ball, every part of her body tense and pressed together. Every line of her body speaks of a pain he doesn’t understand.

The first night it happens, Aymeric rolls away and tries to forget he saw anything. When morning comes, she doesn’t say anything, and neither does he.

The next time (and every time after), he silently wipes away her tears and whispers her name until she’s resting calmly once again.

__

Aymeric likes sweets, and Hallura does not.

She catches him, just once, slipping five spoonfuls of birch syrup into his tea, when he comes to Fortemps manor to dine with Edmont one cold evening. He is not expecting her - none of the manor is - and even though it’s brief, the blush that she sees on his cheeks as he stirs his tea is telling enough.

It’s both endearing and convenient; as the Warrior of Light, Hallura’s been the recipient of many gifts over the years, and of those many gifts,  _ too _ many have been some form of baked goods or sweets. She always feels bad discarding them - and none of the returned Scions have much taste for them either - so the discovery of Aymeric’s sweet tooth is a bit of a blessing in disguise. 

She starts bringing him the sweets she has no interest in on the nights she goes to see him, and to her delight he accepts them eagerly. Oftentimes, they will sit on the chaise together, talking about this or that while Aymeric eats chocolates or lemoncakes off a plate, and Hallura watches him with an inexplicable sense of satisfaction. 

He offers to share them with her at first, and she always declines with an amused shake of her head. “Sweet things are not to my taste,” she tells him, smiling.

“Then what  _ is _ to your taste?” Aymeric asks, wiping his mouth with a napkin. His blue eyes are curious and inviting, and every time Hallura stares into them she thinks maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay there.

“Bitter things,” she says eventually, after evading his questions for a long while. “Sour things.” 

His face scrunches a little at the mention of such flavors, and it makes her throw her head back and laugh.

When Hallura comes to Aymeric’s office several days later and finds he has Ala Mhigan-style coffee set out for her, there is no containing the flattered flush in her cheeks.

(“You  _ do _ know how bitter this stuff is, don’t you?”

“For you, I would be willing to give most anything a try.”

She’ll never forget the twist of his mouth the moment the coffee touches his lips.)

__

Hallura adores bathing more than anyone Aymeric has ever met. 

In all fairness, bathing is not a typical Ishgardian pastime. Among his peers, Aymeric thinks he might be most prone to frequent washes, but even his preference for cleanliness pales in comparison to Hallura’s. 

He knows she enjoys it, but it’s only once they confess to each other their feelings and Hallura settles in with him that he really understands the extent to which she does. On the nights when he returns home to find her waiting for him at the Borel manor, she is almost always running a bath and humming happily to herself, stirring the water with her fingers as steam floats through the room. 

She confesses to him that it’s, in part, a longing for the sea - she explains to him that as a girl she spent her mornings at the beach, catching fish or swimming in the clear waters surrounding La Noscea. In Ishgard, swim-worthy water is rare, so she indulges instead in frequent baths. 

(Later, he learns that she scrubs her skin until it’s pink in an attempt to wash away memories of blood and battle she’d rather not keep.)

It’s not long after this discovery that Aymeric begins to join her. His tub is a little cramped for the two of them, but he wraps his arms around her and holds her tight to his chest, and the way she rests her head against him makes the closeness all worth it. He invests in bath oils and soaps in her favorite scents, and soon enough bathtime becomes one of the things he looks forward to most of all. 

And if they spill water over the tub’s edge doing something raunchier than shampooing each other’s hair? Well, only the floor needs to keep their secrets.

__

Despite the time they must spend apart, both Hallura and Aymeric know these things: 

There will always be a hot bath drawn before bed.

Hallura does not take sweets with her coffee, but will gladly watch as Aymeric snacks on them.

Aymeric will hold her when she has nightmares, and Hallura will wake up without tear-stained cheeks.

And every morning, they will wake early and make tea, and watch the sunrise, hearts intertwined - no matter the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr! https://alamhigyoooo.tumblr.com/


	5. massage (aymeric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hallura doesn't care anymore, and aymeric is happy to oblige her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me pretending i have any semblance of structure or order oop
> 
> hallura/aymeric, post-ghimlyt and post-accidental-turned-i-don't-care-who-sees-anymore kiss (feat me making my own traditions)

“Lord Commander…”

Aymeric turns away from the Ghimlyt war council table to face the Temple Knight who summoned him. “What is it?” he asks, trying not to sound too drained.

The knight shifts uncomfortably, shuffling from foot to foot. Aymeric can’t tell if it’s nerves or something else; he raises an eyebrow, ready to demand an answer again, before the knight stammers out, “The...the Warrior of Light...has taken up residence at your tent...a-and claims she will not leave until you...until you see her.”

_Oh._ Aymeric feels every eye in the vicinity turn towards him, and the back of his neck begins to heat up. _What a flattering place for everyone to hear,_ he thinks ruefully, trying not to blush. He doesn’t hunch in or show that he’s affected, though, and instead tells the knight in a surprisingly steady voice, “Tell her I will join her after this meeting is adjourned, and leave her to her peace. I shan’t be long.”

“V-very well, Lord Commander,” the knight says with a bow, before scampering off like a fire’s been lit beneath his rear. It takes all of Aymeric’s willpower to not let out an exasperated sigh - but he must maintain his composure. After all, this is but the first of many days ahead of them; if he falters under the world’s scrutiny on the very day he and Hallura revealed their relationship, how can he plan to hold up against the oncoming years?

As he turns back towards the table, there is a low chuckle to his side. Aymeric glances over at Merlwyb, who meets his gaze with a glint in her eye. “Apologies, Ser Aymeric,” she says, though her tone is hardly apologetic. “In all the years I’ve worked with her, Captain Kaine has always been insistent. ‘Twould seem she is no different with you.”

“Admiral,” Aymeric clears his throat, feeling that blush creeping dangerously close to his cheeks. He tries to steer the topic of conversation back towards work. “I should think that she is deserving of a little ‘insistence’, given today’s events.”

“Yes, I must agree,” comes a snicker from across the table, and Aymeric tries not to wince as Nanamo speaks up. “Today’s events were _most_ enlightening. I think that your and Mistress Kaine’s display did plenty to rally the troops, as an _effective_ show of Eorzean unity.” For all her dignity, Nanamo’s amused wit is sharp and brutal, and if he were any less adjusted to personal attacks Aymeric thinks he might wilt. “Just how long have you had that planned?”

“Oh, Nanamo, do let him be,” Kan-e-Senna chides, though her voice barely disguises her own laughter. She turns to Aymeric. “Forgive us, Ser Aymeric. We are all quite happy for you and Mistress Kaine; it was simply a pleasant surprise to see you both together at last.”

Aymeric looks around the table in surprise. Such easy acceptance of their arrangement by his political peers was not something he expected, and yet the faces around the table show nothing but warmth. “Please, it is my place to ask forgiveness,” he insists, bowing his head sheepishly. “Neither Hallura nor I intended to hide from you. We feared there would be resistance…”

“We understand,” Raubahn says, voice kind. “But I think I speak for us all when I say that you have our support. Miss Kaine carries an unimaginable burden upon her back, and it is a comfort to know that she has someone of true character to support her in kind.”

It is a compliment Aymeric does not expect. “I...I don’t know what to say,” he stammers, taken aback.

“Think nothing of it, my friend. Go to her,” Raubahn insists with a nod towards the camp. Before Aymeric can protest, Raubahn adds, “We are all but finished here; you needn’t worry yourself. Go.”

Aymeric casts a quick glance around his peers and finds only smiles. “Thank you, my friends,” he says, gratitude seeping into his voice. “I shall speak with you later.” He turns on his heel in time to breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

“Oh, take your time! We’re not going anywhere,” Lyse laughs outright, and the implication of her words has the whole table laughing with her. Aymeric offers a glance over his shoulder and a smile, before hurrying away to his tent.

The whole camp is abuzz with chatter - as he passes by soldiers he hears talk of their victory, of the Alliance, of their Doman allies come to fight at last - but as eyes begin to catch on him, conversation turns to excited whispers and side-eyed glances. He knows they speak of _the kiss_ , and once again he’s grateful that he grew up the object of gossip and rumors; at the very least it prepared him for _this_.

As he pushes aside the flap of the tent entrance, he discovers Hallura already divested of her boots and gauntlets, making use of a washbasin and a towel. Her back is turned to him as she scrubs behind her neck. “Already cleaning up, I see,” he says with a smile to announce himself. 

Hallura straightens, and turns to face him with a tired smile. “I took the liberty of fetching water and bringing it here,” she says, setting down the towel beside the basin. “I caught the attention of one of your knights.”

“Just one?” Aymeric moves closer to envelop her in a tight embrace. Hallura lets her head loll forward, clutching him tightly. “The whole Alliance is gossiping about us right now. One knight among many soldiers seems almost unrealistic.”

“Oh, I’m sure there were others.” She looks up at him and grins. “But only one was bold enough to confront me. I assume he went to confront _you_ as well, since he came back in a fluster like that,” she continues, pulling away to begin removing Aymeric’s armor.

“In front of the entire Alliance leadership council,” Aymeric sighs, shrugging off his pauldrons and cloak. “But the others took it well, I think. They voiced unanimous...support.”

“Ah. So Nanamo teased you.” Once he is down to just his undershirt and trousers, Hallura picks up a new cloth and soaks it, taking it to wipe the skin of his neck and face free of grime. 

“Brutally,” Aymeric laughs. “Something about us being ‘an effective show of Eorzean unity.’ But it was well worth it to know that at least the Alliance takes no issue with us being together.”

“Pfft,” she snorts. “I’m sure once the shock wears off people will start thinking too hard about it. Still, I’m glad. Sorry I left you to handle that alone.”

“Think nothing of it,” he shushes her, taking the cloth from her hand and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I hardly mind standing my ground, especially for you.”

Hallura just gives him a sad, watery smile. Aymeric frowns, thumbing his hand over her cheek. “I heard about Alisaie,” he murmurs, not missing the way her eyes tighten. “I’m so sorry, Hallura. I should have been there for you.”

“Don’t be,” she says quietly. “It’s not your fault.”

“Did you want to talk about it?” Aymeric knows there’s probably not much to _talk_ about, but perhaps Hallura will find some relief from conversation.

“No.” She shakes her head, leaning her face into his touch. “I don’t want to cry right now. I’m too tired to cry.”

“What can I do for you, my love?” He pulls her into a hug and rests his chin atop her head.

There’s a short pause before Hallura wraps her arms around him. “I want a massage,” she mumbles, voice muffled in his chest. “My leg is killing me.”

Aymeric laughs. “Of course,” he tells her, kissing her hair. “Go lie down so I can wash my hands.” 

“Mmm.” She shuffles over to his cot and plops down on her stomach with an exaggerated sigh. Aymeric can’t help laughing again as he rinses his hands in the basin, before sitting on the cot and maneuvering her left leg so it rests atop his lap. He runs a hand up her tan skin before applying pressure to the back of her thigh. “Ah,” she hums, resting her face sideways on the pillow. “That’s it.”

Aymeric smiles, feeling the tight muscle beneath his fingertips. “I wish I had oil for you,” he says.

“You don’t need it,” she tells him, sounding pleased enough. “It’s expensive. You could spend gil on other things.”

“I can think of nothing better to spend money on than you,” Aymeric retorts, squeezing her thigh gently. She lets out a huff. “You needn’t be so frugal, my love.”

“I know, I know,” she complains, shifting her leg. “Force of habit.” And then they lapse into silence for a while, the only sounds between them the whisper of Aymeric’s hand against her skin, and the occasional grunt from Hallura when he ends up working a knot out of the muscle. 

“Say, Aymeric,” she says finally, when Aymeric finishes massaging her thigh. She rolls over onto her back, and he takes the chance to work on her knee. She lifts her head up. “You know what I _would_ be willing to spend money on?”

“Tell me,” he says with a smile; Hallura is rarely a splurger, and the idea of her willingly spending money is intriguing. Beneath his hands her skin is warm, muscles growing pliable from his touch.

“A wedding,” Hallura says, and the word makes Aymeric’s breath catch, his hands freeze. “A big wedding, Ala Mhigan style.”

He doesn’t respond right away, though his hands continue their ministrations on her knee. He is deep in thought, suddenly so enchanted by the idea. A wedding. Such hopes have been secretly resting on his mind, though he’s never allowed himself to think very far into them. Too many things stopping them - Hallura is always away fighting, after all, and up until a few hours ago a public wedding was out of the question altogether. They’d been satisfied with a secret engagement, but now that their hand is revealed, perhaps...

Hallura’s voice snaps him out of his reverie. “Too soon?” she asks, sounding worried. Aymeric, snapped out of his stupor, hurriedly shaking his head.

“It’s not that,” he assures her. “I’ve thought of it myself, but the idea of a wedding just seemed so far away, until now. And,” he adds, lifting her leg up to kiss her calf and loving the way she laughs, “it brings me joy to know you’ve been thinking of getting married, too.”

“Of _course_ I think about it,” she says with a hint of indignation. “I didn’t propose to you because I wanted to leave you in an engagement-limbo for all time. Is it so strange that I should dream?”

“Not at all.” Aymeric runs his fingers along her calf and begins to massage the muscles there. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking of. I don’t know much about Ala Mhigan weddings.”

“Well,” she begins; she sounds nervous, so Aymeric pauses to encourage her by running his hand along her leg. “I don’t know much from first-hand experience...everything I learned is from others teaching me. But the weddings happen in two parts, with one ceremony in each partner’s home town.”

“We could have one in Ala Mhigo and one in Ishgard,” Aymeric says with a grin. 

“Exactly,” Hallura says, closing her eyes as he continues to massage her calf. “That way everyone we want to invite can attend.”

“The ceremony could be outside, in both cities,” Aymeric adds, feeling his excitement growing.

Hallura sits up. “And there’s this custom of _henna,_ where the bride has art drawn onto her hands and feet before the wedding, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. I remember seeing it sometimes when I was very little and always wanting some for myself.”

“With paint?” he asks, running a finger beneath her toes and smiling when she squirms. The thought of people painting her feet is amusing, considering how ticklish she is there.

“No, it’s like a temporary tattoo,” she corrects him, trying to hold in her grin. Aymeric begins to massage her foot, careful not to use his nails lest she jump on reflex. “I would wear it for both parts.”

“Would you have two outfits for the two ceremonies?” 

“I think so.” Hallura leans forward to put a hand on his, stopping his movements. Aymeric looks at her, surprised to see shyness on her face. 

“What is it, Lura?” he asks, reaching to touch her face.

“How would…” She stops, biting her lip. “What do you think of me wearing a dress?”

“A dress?” In all the years since Aymeric has known her, Hallura has not _once_ worn a dress. She’s never admitted as much, but he’s fairly certain she finds them to be an uncomfortable reminder of being bullied as a child. 

“Yes. Does it sound silly?”

Aymeric can’t help the smile that breaks across his face. “Hallura, if it’s what makes you happy, I would see you in anything. I think a dress would be lovely, and I’m happy to spend as much you desire to find the dress of your dreams,” he adds, digging a knuckle gently into the bottom of her foot.

Hallura yelps, before smacking him gently on the arm. “You’ll do no such thing,” she says, but she’s smiling wide now too.

“Ah, but you said we could spend as much as we wanted,” Aymeric teases back.

“I never said ‘ _as much’ -_ you’re terrible,” she laughs, pulling him in for a kiss. “I want to get married, Aymeric.”

“We will,” he promises her, resting his chin atop her head again. 

“After I bring back the Scions, and save Somaya,” she murmurs, lying back down on her side. Aymeric moves to lie behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her hair. “Everyone will be there.” 

“No sooner,” he agrees. Then he smiles. “If I’d known that giving you a massage would open up opportunities to lavish you like this, I’d have started much sooner.”

Hallura props herself up on one arm and looks over her shoulder to glare at him. “I _will_ leave if you threaten to spend money on me again.”

With a laugh, Aymeric pulls her back to him. “No promises, my love.”

_For_ _you?_ he thinks, snuggling close to her and closing his eyes. _I’d spend the world._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr! https://alamhigyoooo.tumblr.com/


	6. primal (ardbert)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the first time in a long time, the echo is a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> playing this game as a warrior main has its perks...like knowing every move ardbert uses on u during That One Solo Duty and getting really emotional about it
> 
> i think a lot about the interplay between ardbert and hallura; whenever i write for them i think very much about how both of them are inherently motivated to find and reunite with each other when they're on the other's home turf (ardbert in the source, hallura on the first); i also think that ardbert was a lot more sensitive to hallura first because he was dead and had the ability to focus on his spiritual resonance with her since he didn't have to worry about bodily needs anymore

It’s probably because he’s dead.

No, it must definitely be because he’s dead. Nothing like this ever happened to him while he was still flesh and blood, after all, and aside from the immortality bit, Ardbert’s fairly sure he hasn’t acquired any newfound powers.

But as he leads the charge against Ravana, he does wonder. Is this newfound skill the work of the Ascians? Or perhaps something he learned by accident when he and his friends traveled to the Source?

_Ravana slices towards her, and she dodges his blades with a quick roll to the right. She sinks her axe into the floor to stop her momentum, and finds her footing, throws her power into an onslaught and slamming into the primal -_

Ardbert has to admit, it’s inspiring. Primals, as they are called here in the Source, are part and parcel for him and his loyal crew, and he’s yet to find true excitement in combat against them. This new... _thing,_ whatever it is, makes battling them much more interesting. 

He’s never _met_ this world’s Warrior of Light before, but for some strange reason, the aether here seems determined to have him _know_ her. As he swings his axe, plants his feet firm in the ground, he lets the feeling take over him again.

_Ravana is descending from above; she has time to sidestep, barely managing to parry his swords with the cheek of her axe. The force behind Ravana’s dive has wedged him deep into the ground, and she takes the opportunity to leap and bear her blade down on one of his arms, fracturing his defense -_

His body moves on its own accord - like someone pulling the strings of a puppet, guiding him smoothly through motions familiar and foreign all at once. He hears his friends cry out in alarm as he deflects Ravana’s strike in a fashion that’s nothing like his own, cries that quickly change to cheers of surprise and victory. 

It’s like a second soul resides within him; Ardbert finds himself flowing in time with his vision, overlaid with his own perception as though he’s peering through a tinted window. Her adrenaline becomes his, hiking his emotions higher and higher. 

_Ravana lashes out furiously from the center of the platform - she presses close to the wooden barriers, the only thing between her and a quick fall to her death, and waits for the opportunity to dash back in and strike -_

There are no walls here, but Ardbert finds himself pulling back at the tell Ravana gives - the primal hunches in and draws his blades in close - and he manages to shout at his friends to withdraw just in time, as the beetle-god releases a hurricane of swords. 

Distantly, he can hear his friends’ exclamations - _what anticipation, how did you know, keep up the great work_ \- but louder is the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, 

_She rushes in as he prepares for another whirlwind of swords; his back is undefended and she takes the chance to swing her axe at his exposed legs. The air is burning with heat, and she is sweating -_

Step for step, strike for strike - Ardbert dances through the fight with the Warrior of Light, her spectre his partner. Every breath, every heavy swing, every pivot is matched to hers.

He shouts and spins with a vengeance, loving and despising this unnatural vision he’s taken upon himself. She is there and not there, thrumming through his incorporeal being and filling him with memories.

_Butterflies materialize out of the air, casting a magic that spells doom. She hurries to take them down, throwing her weight into a steel cyclone, and the red-winged butterflies fall like leaves to the ground -_

He brings the winged beasts down one by one, slicing through them with ease. His allies follow suit, oblivious to the chaos overwhelming their leader. Surely they attribute Ardbert’s easy success to raw intuition, but he alone knows the truth: they follow in _her_ footsteps.

Again and again he attacks, infuriated, inspired - so many feelings course into him, both his and hers, blinding his mind to all but the thrill of battle.

_Then there are chains of aether around her, and she’s being hoisted into the air - she casts up a shield and squeezes her eyes shut, bracing for the torrent Ravana is about to deliver -_

It will not be so today, Ardbert thinks, and lashes out with chains of his own aether; Ravana is bound, unable to move, and Ardbert takes the chance to overpower his enemy. 

_A heartbeat, a feral scream, and one fell cleave -_

One final, perfectly placed attack, and it’s over.

Ardbert kneels, axe propped in the dirt behind him. He watches as Ravana bursts into motes of aether, floating away into the sky, and bitterly thanks Hallura Kaine for a victory he never asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr! https://alamhigyoooo.tumblr.com/


	7. pulling an all-nighter (exarch!g'raha)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if he won't sleep, then neither will she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoilers for shb!
> 
> i wrote this one out after paying the ocular a visit in game only to find NO g'raha tia there and i was incredibly insulted...how DARE the devs make beq-lug say "please visit him he loves you" and then make him NOT visitable

“Mmph.” Hallura rubs at her eyes, head heavy from exhaustion. The letters in front of her have begun to blur together; with a sigh, she puts down her pen and massages at her temples. She casts a quick glance at the candle on the desk - it is well over half-burned, indicating that it must be past midnight by now.

“You should rest,” comes a calm voice from behind her. “You don’t have to push yourself for my sake.”

“No,” she says with a shake of her head. She rolls her neck and turns to face her late-night partner. “I’ll be fine.”

From across the Umbilicus, G’raha Tia offers her a small smile. “I know you are not accustomed to late nights as I am,” he chastises gently, setting down the crystal he’s holding. “No one will think less of you if you decide to sleep.”

“And if I sleep, who will watch you to make sure you’re not overexerting yourself?” Hallura retorts, turning to sling an arm over the back of her chair. She squints a little, trying to adjust her eyes to the blue light of the Umbilicus from the gentler golden light of her candle. “I’m fine. I just need to take a break from writing for a moment.”

G’raha’s ears flatten ever so slightly; Hallura chuckles, amused by his petulance. “If that is your wish,” he acquiesces, turning his attention back to the pale crystals spread on the table before him.

She stretches, arching her back and exhaling slowly. Her hands have begun to cramp from holding her pen for so long and her shoulders are stiff. With a huff, she rises from her seat to hover across the table from G’raha, staring curiously at the objects of his attention. “How goes your progress?” she asks him, picking up one of the crystals and examining it.

“Poorly,” G’raha replies with a grimace. His hands tighten into fists. “I have failed every attempt thus far.”

“Should you take a break?” Hallura’s brow furrows with worry. He does not look well; his skin, already pale by nature, has taken on a concerning greyish tinge, and there are shadows beneath his eyes. “How many days have you been like this?”

“Too many,” he answers, both an avoidance and an admission. “A testament to how many times I have tried. But until I find success, I’m afraid I cannot rest.”

She narrows her eyes, displeased by his answer. “You _know_ what I’m about to tell you,” Hallura says firmly, pointing the crystal in her hand towards him.

“I do, and I don’t need to hear it.” G’raha sighs, shaking his head. “There is too much at stake.”

His stubbornness is endearing - and frustrating. Hallura bites the inside of her lip. Unwilling to give in, she says, “But surely you can’t stay up like this forever. Your body will tire out eventually; I can already see the exhaustion under your eyes.”

“You needn’t worry about that,” he replies, running his hand up his crystalline arm. “I can pull energy from the Tower’s reserves to replenish my own.”

Despite the confidence in his voice, his appearance makes his statement unconvincing. Hallura thinks that, if he really is rejuvenating himself using the Tower, it’s doing little to restore his health. He’s simply channeling endless energy, and not using it to care for himself at all. 

“This makes twice now that you’ve looked like you’re about to collapse,” she retorts, setting down the crystal. “And perhaps I’m wrong, but I don’t think you’ll make progress if you’re passed out on the floor.”

Unfortunately, G’raha doesn’t budge, her taunt sliding off his shoulders like water. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Hallura,” he says, voice carefully patient - and _infuriatingly_ neutral. “But I stand by my decision. I _will_ continue to try.”

_Of course he will_ , she thinks. She knew that when she came here - that’s why she’s passing up on sleep tonight, to ensure that at least he is working under _someone’s_ supervision. His devotion to the salvation of the Source is admirable, but it is clearly coming at a cost to him - and a cost to him is a cost to her. 

There’s really only one way to slow him down. Hallura hates to be pushy, but it must be done.

“Give me your hand,” she says, slipping off her gloves and holding out an open palm to him. 

“Wh - what?” G’raha all but jumps at her request, ears perked to alertness and eyes going wide. “Why?”

“If you’re going to try, then you shouldn’t have to work alone,” Hallura tells him, pressing her hand closer. He won’t refuse her - she knows this.

Still, he is reluctant; he twists his fingers together instead, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of his hands. “My friend,” he begins, sounding nervous, “there is nothing you can _do._ This project hinges on my connection to the Tower…”

“And it relies on your blood, I know,” she interrupts, sighing and pushing her hair from her face. “I’m not talking about the crystals. Give me your hand, Raha. I’ll show you what I mean.”

It’s a low blow on her part - a very low blow. Hallura is probably the only person who has called him “Raha” for centuries, and if just “G’raha” was enough to move him to tears, his nickname from their past will surely affect him even more, but she needs him to _listen,_ for the sake of the Twelve, and she knows no better way to make him.

As expected, he goes rigid when she says his name. His lips tighten, his cheeks flare a soft pink. She raises an eyebrow at him, holding out her hand once again. 

“I - I shouldn’t,” he murmurs, gaze fixed on her hand. “We shouldn’t.”

“Do you trust me?” she asks him, voice quiet. 

“It is not you who I mistrust,” is his answer, and in his ruby red irises she spies his meaning. 

Reflected in his gaze is the platinum ring she wears on her left hand.

Hallura gives him a sad smile. “ _I_ trust you,” she whispers, dipping her head down slightly to meet his eyes. “Don’t think too much about it, Raha.”

A long silence falls between them. She waits patiently for him to take her hand - if he is going to be stubborn, then she will be, too. He refuses to give up his work - she refuses to let him work alone. 

Hesitantly, G’raha lifts his crystal arm to place his fingertips gingerly into her palm. His touch is feather-light, scarcely a presence against her skin. Hallura can feel anxiousness radiating off of him.

Slowly, so as not to scare him away, she extends her fingers, pressing them gently up into his hand. When he doesn’t flinch away, she wraps her thumb around his hand, closes her eyes, and _feels_. 

Past his well-crafted mask of restraint, she finds it. The song of his aether, the thrum of the Tower's essence coursing through his veins; his sorrow, his frustration, his guilt - these things all come flooding towards her, traveling between their fingertips. 

Hallura feels G'raha tense up; he cannot tell what she is doing, she's sure, but he must be suspicious. She squeezes his hand ever so slightly, a plea to ask him to stay. 

Like a book, Hallura turns through page after page of G'raha's aether, chasing the source of the pain he is suffering. The crystal of his body, foreign though it may be, conducts her aether beautifully, allowing her to feel his soul dancing against her own. He remains still against her touch, uncertain of what magic she's working.

_Easy_ , she thinks, beginning to send him pulses of her own aether to soothe him. _Easy. I have you now. I have you._

"Oh," Hallura hears G'raha say, a breathless little gasp of surprise, confusion, or maybe both. "Hallura -"

"Shh," she hushes him, gently pushing back at the wave of emotion he accidentally sends her. "Let me do this for you."

"You don't have to," he whispers, voice cracking a little. "Lura…"

Hearing her name from his lips makes her heart soar and break at the same time. "...I want to," she murmurs back. 

There is a long pause between them before G'raha says, barely audible, "Alright."

And with his permission, Hallura lets herself attune.

She's never done this part before, attuning to a person. Sure, she's dabbled in others' memories or feelings, but this is the first time she's attempting to attune to someone like she would an aetheryte. With any luck, it will anchor her energy to his, and lend him some of her strength to heal and press on.

He will spend many more nights losing sleep, but at least now he will have her power to support him through them.

This is the only way Hallura can tell G'raha she loves him - without words or motions, in a way that only he will ever understand or experience. It is the only way she'll be able to tell him, because if she tries to say it aloud then the fragile boundaries set between them will break and she will lose everything she has worked so hard to build.

It is too late for them. They are different people from when they first met all those years ago; their paths have reconverged, but they are no longer free to walk forward together. Hallura knows this. G'raha knows this.

And yet, when she feels him attuning back to _her,_ she can hear the whispers of his heart against her own. 

She presses her lips together and fights back the burn of her tears. 

Just a moment longer, and then Hallura opens her eyes and withdraws - first her aether and then her hand, dragging her fingers lightly across his palm until just their fingertips are brushing, waiting for G’raha to pull away first.

He never does.

Instead, he lifts watery eyes to meet hers. “Thank you,” he whispers hoarsely. “Thank you. I don’t know how to repay you...”

G’raha’s tears spill over, and Hallura can’t help it when a tear slips down her cheek, too. “You don’t have to,” she says, repeating his words from before. “Seeing you hale and whole is more than enough for me.”

“I feel unworthy,” he rasps, looking down. 

“You’re not unworthy,” Hallura insists. “You’ll never be unworthy of my support.”

“And if I let you down, someday?”

“Have I ever let _you_ down?” she chuckles.

G’raha’s lips curl up into a small smile, and he raises his gaze to meet hers again. “Never.”

“Then you won’t let me down either.” 

They both fall comfortably silent. Hallura holds his gaze for a long while, trying to capture every detail of his face in this moment. Already his eyes seem brighter, his skin less pallid, and she feels a wave of relief wash over her. 

It happens slowly - a shaky breath, a smile, and a nod - and then their fingers part. She’s not sure which of them pulled away first, but it doesn’t matter. Everything that needed to be said has been said.

“Back to work, I suppose,” Hallura says with a sigh and a roll of her shoulders. It’s as though a weight has been lifted from her chest - her eyelids are no longer heavy and her mind is clear. G’raha smiles at her again, a little more assured this time.

“No more pestering, then?” he teases, watching as Hallura goes to pick up her papers and pen.

“No pestering,” she agrees, but she grabs her chair and drags it back to G’raha’s table, setting it down across from him. She collects her candle as well and puts it down next to his crystals. “But I’m still supervising.” 

His lips turn quickly downwards into a pout; she has to cover up her snort with a hand. “Is that really necessary?”

“You’d best prove to me it isn’t, if you want me to go away,” Hallura fires back, organizing her papers on the table. She takes her pen in hand and waves it at him. “Now get back to it, G’raha Tia.”

Even as she casts her eyes down to her work, she catches his happy grin, dancing bright again in the candlelight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr! https://alamhigyoooo.tumblr.com/


	8. teasing/playing pranks (g'raha)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hallura wonders how far her aim can reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok ive been waiting to post this one forever but i never got around to it because i would reread it and get super sad about CT-era g'raha and hallura but behold! the time when hallura literally wanted to fling g'raha off a cliff...can u believe she fell in love with that? dang

“You’re certain working with him won’t be a problem?” Rammbroes asks again, frowning deeply.

Hallura grits her teeth and closes her eyes in an effort to hide her annoyance. “It’s alright. Everything will be fine.” 

It would be more convincing if she weren’t sharpening her sword, most likely - but Rammbroes just shrugs. “Truly, I don’t know what inspired him to poke fun at you like that - I’m terribly sorry for the trouble.”

With a sigh, Hallura props her sword against her leg, setting down the whetstone. “Stop apologizing, Rammbroes. Whatever your connections are, he’s a grown man and if he decides he’d rather goof off than work, that’ll be his issue. I’m just here to support your expedition, and I promise I can do my job without making a fuss.”

Rammbroes only offers a raised eyebrow in response. “If you’re satisfied, then.”

“Really, Rammbroes, it won’t be any trouble. _I_ won’t be any trouble.” Hallura rises, giving him a tired smile. “I appreciate your concern.”

The spectacled Roegadyn stares at her a moment longer, as if he’s trying to gauge the truth in her words, before some of the tension falls from his shoulders and he allows himself a small grin. “Very well. Dinner will be served shortly - you need only speak to the members by the fire when you grow hungry.”

“Thank you.” Hallura dips her head, and as Rammbroes walks off she lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. His worry is admirable - and if Hallura’s being honest, probably well-placed.

After all, she’d been a hair away from lobbing her shield up the scaffolding at one russet-haired Miqo’te mere hours ago; she doubts anyone would have survived that experience without some serious damage, much less a whimsical bookworm who, for some reason, had chosen to prank _her_ of all people.

Heaving another sigh, Hallura begins to move her things into the tent designated for her, setting her pack of possessions and flask on her cot and leaning her sword and shield against a locked wooden chest - one no doubt filled with supplies of her tentmate, whom she has yet to meet. A bow and quiver of arrows rests on their cot, and a closed notebook. Meeting them will have to come later, though, as she feels her stomach growl, and so she heads out in prospect of a warm meal.

As she passes through the camp, she can hear the whispers of the expedition members and feels their eyes on her. She purses her lips - the stares are not new, and neither are the whispers, but right now Hallura doesn’t want to be treated like an idol. She’s just hungry and wants dinner.

The whispers continue when she gets her bowl of soup and sits down on a crate to eat. Every scholar in the camp seems to have their gaze on her - and yet Hallura sits alone, isolated by her prestige.

Their awe isn’t unusual - it _isn’t_. How many years has she been famous now? Not since she was twenty-one, maybe twenty-two; at least four years in Eorzea’s spotlight. Hallura should be used to this...except this loneliness, this distance from people who should be her peers, is something that dredges up old, old memories that she’d rather forget.

“It’s not like I defeated the Ultima Weapon because I wanted to be left alone again,” she mutters under her breath, tapping her spoon against the bowl of soup. She fails to suppress a frustrated sigh, and decides it might just be better to eat in the peace of her tent, where at least her solitude will be intentional.

The eyes of the camp remain trained on Hallura’s back as she returns to her tent, and she hopes they can’t see the dejection in her shoulders. It’s ridiculous for the Warrior of Light to be acting like a child left out of a game - she’s grown up well past those days. Still, better to eat her meal alone in peace than lose her appetite feeling left out in public. 

It would be better - except as soon as Hallura walks into the tent she sees that her things are _gone._

“What?!” Food forgotten, she drops her bowl and scours the scene - it’s definitely her tent, this is where she came from, but her bag and her sword and shield are missing. With suspicion, Hallura realizes that the chest is untouched from before - and in a heartbeat she also realizes her tentmate is a thief.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she growls, throwing open the tent flaps and storming out into the camp. How long has it been - a few hours?! Hells, she doesn’t even know _who_ her roommate is. Hallura pauses to release an angry breath, and is about to turn on her heel to find Rammbroes when - 

“Ah! Warrior!”

Too late, the dots connect in Hallura’s brain. Rammbroes’ worry, the arrows on the bed, her things vanishing, and _that voice_ …

“I was wondering when I would catch your attention again! It took you longer than I expected!” And from the top of the scaffolding, G’raha Tia crouches, her pack slung over his shoulder and her weapons lying at his side. Hallura feels the urge to smack the cocky grin off his face. “Well? Have you come to fetch your belongings or are you going to glare at me all night?”

She’s snapping back before she can stop herself. “You’d better _hope_ I’m only glaring at you tonight!” she shouts, hands balling into fists. Is this some kind of joke to him?! “Give me back my things!”

“I feel it would be far more interesting for you to come and get them yourself,” G’raha laughs back, picking up her sword and balancing it on his hands. Hallura can hear the murmurs of the camp behind her; she blushes furiously when she thinks about how all this must look. “Or is the Warrior of Light afraid of heights?”

“Afra - I’ll show _you_ afraid!” Heated by his challenge, Hallura lunges towards the scaffolding and leaps, grasping the poles to haul herself up. It’s too easy - she spent her youth on the ladders and ropes of the ships of Limsa Lominsa, and these wide platforms provide a more than generous landing.

From above, G’raha Tia claps, obviously pleased. “Impressive! But are you quick enough to catch me?”

“So this is a chase now?” she calls, pulling herself up another level. Adrenaline pounds through her veins; her heart beats a little bit faster, thrilled by the action. “I don’t recall you saying I had to catch you.”

“This is a game, my friend! Surely you didn’t think your prize would be so easily won?” His voice echoes, and she can hear his footsteps against the wooden planks over her head.

“Games have rules, scholar!” she retorts, swinging up yet another flight. “You can’t just go changing them whenever you like!”

“I’ll consider that if you win!”

Considerate indeed - Hallura can’t help the breathless laugh she lets out as she hurries across the scaffolds. Perhaps this scholar isn’t so bad after all - at least he won’t be after she puts him in his place. He’s making for better company than the rest of the camp, at any rate.

By the sound of G’raha Tia’s footsteps, Hallura’s passed him by now - with a huff, she stops to pull herself up one last time onto the top level and lands square on her feet, opposite one Baldesion scholar.

“My things,” she says, panting a little. She rises slowly, holding out her hand to G’raha.

The Miqo’te’s eyes are wide, perhaps with surprise or fear. Hallura notes for the first time his ruby-hued right eye, a shock of red that’s bright even in the darkness of night. She waits for him to stammer or stagger back like all people do when confronted by the Warrior of Light - but he doesn’t.

“Bravo, Warrior,” G’raha pants back, lips curling into a mirthful smile. “It would appear you’ve earned continued ownership of your possessions.” He offers her her bag and weapons. Hallura doesn’t miss the way his arms strain slightly under their weight, and notes that he really is _that_ much smaller than her.

It’s almost adorable. Almost.

“That’s rich, coming from a thief,” Hallura says with a roll of her eyes, taking her things back one by one. “Should I be asking Rammbroes for a new tentmate, since my current one has a case of sticky fingers?”

“I merely wanted to see how much fun you could handle. Rest assured it won’t happen again,” G’raha replies cheerily. “Unless you’d like it to.” He offers out a hand, presumably to shake in truce.

She takes it, one eyebrow cocked. “ _This_ is what you consider fun?”

“Yes, among other things.” G’raha shrugs. “I thought you might prefer it to brooding alone over a campfire.”

So he’d noticed her. Hallura can’t tell how that makes her feel. She presses her lips together before saying, “I guess you’re right.”

G’raha’s face lights up with a grin. “Of course I’m right, Warrior. I’m quite observant, I’ll have you know.”

“Don’t call me that,” Hallura sighs, pulling her hand away; the lightness of the moment escapes her, reminded of her title and place in this world. “I’ve got a name.” 

“Mm, right; quite a famous one too. Hallura Kaine.” G’raha places a hand to his chin, and Hallura feels her eyebrow raising again.

“That works just fine -”

“ - I think it’s far too professional to call you by that,” he interrupts, flicking his finger up. She starts, taken aback by the swiftness of his remark. “‘Hallura Kaine’ makes it sound like I’m speaking to a colleague.”

“I - I genuinely can’t tell if you’re insulting my name,” Hallura stutters, just a little mind boggled.

G’raha flashes her a smile, but it’s softer than before. “It wasn’t an insult - I merely meant that I should like to refer to you as a friend.”

A friend. 

How long has it been since someone asked her that? Asked it and genuinely _meant_ it? Hallura stares hard at him, searching his eyes to see if he’s pranking her again. He doesn’t seem to catch the meaning of her gaze, simply tilting his head.

“So? What do your friends call you?” 

She shakes her head slightly, waving off her doubts. There is no point in acting distant to someone who has shown no ill will - no real ill will, anyways. “Most just call me Hal,” she replies, keeping her voice neutral. 

“Hmm. I don’t know...” G’raha peers up at her through narrowed eyes. “What about ‘Lura’?”

“‘Lura’?” She tests the word on her tongue, and finds herself surprisingly pleased by it. “Why..?”

“Why not?” he chimes back, smiling at her again. He snaps his fingers. “Very well! I shall call you Lura.”

Hallura can’t respond. Everything is happening far too quickly for her mind to keep up - she feels as though this Miqo’te is a whirlwind and she’s been swept up and deposited somewhere far, far from where she once stood. She can only blink and nod. 

G’raha flashes her a happy grin. “I had best climb down before Rammbroes scolds me for making a scene,” he says with a shrug, moving to leap down to the ground. With one last glance over his shoulder, he adds, “I look forward to working with you, Lura.”

And then he’s gone, with only a gentle brush of the wind to hint he was ever there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr! https://alamhigyoooo.tumblr.com/
> 
> also fun fact "hal" is actually what people tend to call me for a nickname when i end up in pfs or queue into dungeons...so i figured it would be a fitting name for hallura's more rugged lominsan friends to call her. the scions always refer to her as "hallura"; g'raha is the first person to call her "lura", and hallura likes it so much she starts asking people close to her to use "lura" after she meets him!


	9. driving (flying??) skills - alisaie, ysayle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hallura didn't always know how to fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think a lot about how ysayle deserved better and how she might have guided alisaie like she guided alphinaud...
> 
> hallura misses her dearly

“I don’t think I can get up there.” From the ground, Alisaie peers suspiciously up at Hallura, arms folded. 

“Sure you can,” Hallura insists, patting the saddle behind her. The white griffin huffs gently, flicking its tail. “You just jump.”

“ _Just_ jump,” Alisaie mutters, incorrectly assuming Hallura can’t hear her. 

Hallura rolls her eyes. “Do you need me to lift you up? I’ve picked up far heavier people than you.”

Alisaie shakes her head quickly. “No, I’m fine!” Hesitantly, she shuffles her feet, before crouching and leaping up to land behind Hallura. She lands a little off-balance, and grips Hallura’s shoulder tightly for support.

“See? Told you you’d make it.” Hallura waits for Alisaie to steady herself. “Comfortable?”

“Not the word I’d use,” she snorts. “But I suppose I’ll just have to get used to it.”

“It won’t be so bad,” Hallura promises, picking up the reins and patting the griffin’s neck. “Hold onto me if you want. Nayeli’s mellow, though, you don’t need to worry about a bumpy ride.”

“Let’s just get off the ground,” Alisaie says quickly, wrapping her arms around Hallura’s middle. “I think I’ll be fine once we’re in the air.”

“If you say so! _Adhab,_ Nayeli!” With a flick of her wrists, Hallura spurs Nayeli into a run. One, two, three heartbeats, and the griffin’s powerful legs are pushing off the ground, Alisaie’s grip turning to iron as Nayeli carries them up, up, up.

“What did you say to her?” the elezen girl shouts over the wind as they ascend.

“‘Go’! It’s old Ala Mhigan - I think!” Hallura shouts back. “I don’t remember much of what my mother would say - but I’m fairly sure that was the word for ‘go’!”

As the world slowly shrinks below them, Nayeli begins to level out. Hallura turns to Alisaie and says, “You can relax now - we’re flying steady.”

She feels Alisaie shuffle in the saddle behind her, but the girl doesn’t let up her tight grip. “You’re sure?” Alisaie asks, sounding unsure. 

Hallura laughs. “Do my ears deceive me - is Alisaie Leveilleur _afraid_ of flying?”

“Absolutely not!” Quick as lightning, Alisaie untangles herself from Hallura. “I - I simply wasn’t sure!”

Hallura’s sure if she turned around, Alisaie would be red at the tips of her ears; she stifles another laugh. “I jest, I jest,” she chuckles. “But I promise you’re fine now. How do you like the view?”

Alisaie is silent, but Hallura can feel her lean over slightly to stare over the griffin’s wings at the ground far beneath. She smiles, glancing down too - sunset has turned the mountains of Gyr Abania a beautiful crimson. It’s a sight she never tires of. Behind her, Alisaie lets out a soft “oh”.

“Here, hang on.” Hallura tugs gently at the reins, and Nayeli leans ever so slightly to the right, granting them an even better view. Alisaie gasps, wrapping an arm around Hallura’s waist so she can lean out farther.

The land seems to glow in the waning light of the sun, warm and inviting. The Ziggurat stands tall and proud amongst the mountains, while the Last Forest sprawls towards the settlement of Ala Gannah. One by one, lights flicker on in the windows of the small hamlet, waiting patiently for the embrace of night. 

“It’s spectacular,” Alisaie says, and Hallura feels a rush of pride. 

“Beautiful, right? The view is always best from up high,” she sighs, tilting her head back and feeling the wind against her cheeks. “Once I saw the world from up here I knew I could never go back.”

“...Where did you learn to fly?” Alisaie asks quietly.

Hallura’s eyes suddenly sting - but it’s not from the wind. 

“...I learned from a friend,” she says, hoping the beat of Nayeli’s wings drowns out the sorrow in her voice. She closes her eyes and thinks of a woman clad in blue, white hair flowing in the breeze of the Churning Mists. “She showed me how to fly on the backs of dragons and taught me to love the skies.”

Alisaie leans forward, curious. “What was her name?”

“Ysayle.” Even through the pain of memory, Hallura cannot help but smile. “Her name was Ysayle.”

__

“Are you steady?” asks Ysayle, pressed close to Hallura’s back.

Hallura shifts on the back of the dragon, hoping she doesn’t look as nervous as she feels. “I think I am,” she replies, frowning. Her hands rest tightly around the spines of the dragon’s back.

“It’s no different than riding a chocobo,” Ysayle promises, patting Hallura on the arm.

“I think it’s a _little_ different,” Hallura argues, biting her lower lip. “I don’t have any reins to hold onto...and there’s no saddle.”

“Dragons are not creatures to be saddled,” Ysayle snorts. “Relax your shoulders. You’ll be fine.”

Hallura lets out a long breath; Ysayle is right. Flying on a dragon is hardly the worst thing she’s ever done - and Hallura _had_ asked to learn. “Alright,” she says, steeling herself. “I’m ready. What now?”

“Now we just fly.” Ysayle reaches down to pat the side of the dragon, and Hallura realizes too late there will be no gradual takeoff or running head start. The dragon hunches down and spreads out its wings, roaring. “Let us be off!”

“Wait - whoa!” Before Hallura can protest, the dragon launches straight up into the sky, pulled aloft with a single beat of its enormous wings. The ground is suddenly _not_ directly beneath her, and she curls against the back of the dragon like her life depends on it. 

Ysayle lets out a hearty laugh, seemingly unaffected as they climb higher with every beat of the dragon’s wings. “The Warrior of Light, afraid of _flying_? I don’t believe it.”

“Not scared!” Hallura struggles to sit up, torn between determined pride and the instinctual human urge to huddle as close to safety as she can. “I’m just - I’m not used to it yet.”

“I could have sworn you told me once you were the daring type.” Ysayle’s voice is colored with a smirk. “Tell me, were you bluffing?”

“If you knew half the things I’ve done because it sounded amusing -” Hallura starts, craning her neck around to glare at Ysayle.

“- then flying on a dragon should be simple,” Ysayle cuts her off, smiling languidly. “Come now, sit up. You’ll miss the view if you stay crouched over like that.”

She reaches out and places a hand on Hallura’s shoulder, pulling gently back. Hallura forcibly pushes herself up, though her legs remain firmly pressed to the dragon’s flanks and her gaze is fixed straight ahead on the dragon’s neck. 

“See? It’s hardly so bad,” Ysayle says, voice warm in Hallura’s ear. 

Hallura lets out a long breath and blinks harshly a couple of times. Ysayle laughs behind her again.

“Well? Do you plan to stare at Halvar’s neck the whole time, or will you take in the sights around you?” One hand loops around Hallura’s front to catch beneath her chin and slowly turns Hallura’s face to the side. The touch is unexpected, but Hallura can’t even stop to think about it, as Ysayle opens her eyes to the world from dragonback.

“Oh!” It takes one look to steal Hallura’s breath away.

The Churning Mists spread before her like a scene from a painting, vast and endless. Fluffy white clouds envelop the land, slipping between the chunks of continent. The grand structures of Zenith loom high in the sky, keeping faithful watch over the floating world. 

From here, everything seems serene and peaceful, far removed from the bitter conflicts of man and dragon. Hallura feels her jaw drop, awed by the beauty of the skies - so unlike anything she’s ever seen before. The sight of the Mists from land was breathtaking, but from the _skies_ \- 

“Do you like it?” Ysayle asks, placing her hand on Hallura’s shoulder once more and leaning in close to speak in her ear. 

“I...I don’t know what to say,” Hallura answers, unable to put her feelings into words. Her apprehension is long-forgotten, lost to the sheer beauty of the world from flight. “It’s amazing. I’ve never seen something like this before.”

“Flying puts a new perspective on the world,” Ysayle remarks. “I find peace when I’m in the air and have only the clouds for company.”

“It almost feels like we’re untouchable,” murmurs Hallura. Up high, the details of the land below are impossible to make out; if she didn’t know better she’d think that there really was nobody there, save herself and Ysayle. “Everything is so small.”

“It is,” Ysayle agrees. “You realize how insignificant it all is, even the things we deem important. It’s a liberating feeling, in a way.”

“That’s true.” Hallura smiles softly. From here it’s almost possible to forget that anything else exists, outside of the wind and the sun and the skies. If she closed her eyes and focused on how she feels, she wonders if she could completely let go of all the troubling memories and discoveries she’s made and simply live in the now.

After a moment of silence, Ysayle pats Hallura’s arm again. “Shall we learn some flying maneuvers?” she suggests.

The offer breaks Hallura from her reverie. “Please; I’d love to learn!”

“You’re sounding more like yourself,” Ysayle laughs. “Let’s learn to do a simple turn, then. Hold on!”

Heeding Ysayle’s words, the dragon tilts slightly to one side, putting them into a gentle turn. Hallura yelps, buckling down again when she feels herself lose balance, but slowly straightening out as she centers herself.

“That’s it, Hallura! Balance yourself with your core - the dragon will do all the rest!” 

“Like this?”

“Exactly! You’re a natural.”

“Don’t flatter me just yet!”

Ysayle takes Hallura through one trick at a time - turns, banks, dives, and more. She’s a wonderful teacher, encouraging with words and poking Hallura’s competitive nature with the occasional tease. Her voice is kind, and as they fly, Hallura forgets that once, they stood as enemies. Once, they fought each other, assured of the righteousness of their own causes, despite sharing the same gift.

Perhaps one day they will return to being enemies, she thinks, as they come to the end of their flying lesson. Ysayle Dangoulain will once again become Lady Iceheart, and Hallura Kaine will be nothing more than the Warrior of Light. She glances back.

Ysayle meets her eyes with a sweet smile, pale blue lips curling up and eyes full of gratitude. “Thank you for letting me teach you how to fly,” she tells Hallura.

Hallura returns the smile, feeling her chest go tight with joy. “Thank you for teaching me,” she says in kind.

No, she won't ever be an enemy again, Hallura decides, cherishing the beauty of Ysayle’s warmth. 

_She will always, always be a friend._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr! https://alamhigyoooo.tumblr.com/
> 
> fun fact i'm slowly forgetting my arabic, which i base hallura's fragmented old ala mhigan off of LOLOLOLOL


	10. (attempting to) serenade you (g'raha)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it’s been so many years since she has heard her scholar sing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come on i had to use this prompt for g'raha i HAD to

Lyna’s voice is curious when she asks, “Did you know the Exarch could sing?”

Hallura starts out of her thoughts at the question. “Sorry?” she asks, shaking her head. She puts down her sandwich and stares at her companion.

The white-haired Viis raises an eyebrow. “The Exarch - did you know he could sing?”

“Oh.” Sheepishly, Hallura rubs at her nose. “Well...I suppose. It’s been...a very long time since I last heard...but yes, I knew he could sing.” Her mind fills with memories from an age ago - on the shores of Silvertear, atop the spires of the Tower, beneath violet skies, amid gentle winds.

“I see.” Lyna leans back from across the table and takes a thoughtful bite out of her own food. 

Confused, Hallura frowns at her. “Why do you ask?”

Lyna tilts her head. “The other night, I overheard him singing to the children of the orphanage. There are some few who are still frightened by the dark skies, and I believe he thought it might help to sing them lullabies. When I was young, he would do the same for me...though like you, it has been many a year since I last heard his voice used thus.”

“Ah.” Hallura can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment, wishing she had been there to hear. She shouldn’t think too much about it - but she _has_ missed hearing G’raha’s voice all these years, and if it weren’t for her viciously accurate memory she’s certain she would have lost those precious moments to the hands of time and trauma.

“You seem sad,” Lyna points out, quickly catching onto Hallura’s dejection - a little _too_ quickly for Hallura’s taste. Her purple eyes narrow with thinly veiled interest, and she leans forward once again. “Why?”

Hallura purses her lips and tries not to sigh in embarrassment. “It’s nothing,” she says, waving with her hand and hoping Lyna will let her alone. 

“Surely not,” Lyna insists, pressing the issue. “Does it have to do with the Exarch?”

Beneath her words, Hallura is beginning to hear the hints of a devious smile. Realizing what Lyna intends, she glares at the Viis woman. “Captain, did you invite me to lunch to dine or interrogate me?” she accuses, arching an eyebrow.

It’s brief, but she catches the shadow of a delighted grin on Lyna’s lips before her face returns to a neutral mask. “I invited you because I wished to know more of you,” is all she replies, setting her hands on the table and lacing her fingers together.

“You wished to know more of me and the Exarch,” Hallura finished flatly for her, unable to stop herself from sighing this time. Lyna gives the slightest curl of her lips, and Hallura rubs the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “Very well,” she mumbles, concluding that there is no point in dodging the captain’s perceptive questions. “But _don’t_ tell the Exarch I told you anything.”

“Of course, Warrior,” Lyna agrees with a nod, though Hallura can still sense some childish glee in the way her back straightens.

Closing her eyes, Hallura reaches out towards her most treasured memories - visions of russet hair, the skies of Mor Dhona, and the voice of an angel.

__

“What are you up to?”

G’raha Tia leans over a balcony of the Crystal Tower; Hallura jogs to his side, grinning at the sight of his ears framed against the sunset. He turns to her quickly, a smile lighting up his face as he sees her.

“You came!” he exclaims, spinning so his back rests against the balcony railing. Cradled in his hands is a small lyre.

Hallura beams at him. “Of course I did,” she tells him, pulling her hair down from its ponytail to let it blow in the wind. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

G’raha shakes his head, ears flicking. “I never doubted you,” he laughs, rubbing at his chin. “Still, thank you for coming. I’m happy to see you.”

His sweet, simple compliment makes Hallura blush - she is grateful the warm sunset tints the world red, so he will not see the color in her tan cheeks. “It was my first order of business when I got back,” she shrugs, playing it off. “What did you want to show me? Does it have something to do with the lyre?”

“Ah! Yes! The lyre,” G’raha says, holding up the delicate instrument. “Well, it’s not the lyre, per se…” His fingers begin to fiddle at the strings, plucking them as if out of habit, as he bites the inside of his cheek and looks down. The air fills with whispers of music.

“I hope you don’t plan on leaving me in suspense,” Hallura chuckles, setting down her sword and shield and walking to stand beside him against the railing. “I _did_ climb up all those stairs to meet you, after all.”

“No! No, of course not,” G’raha stammers, looking up with wide eyes. “It’s just...ah, damn, it seems so foolish now.”

His shyness is _so_ endearing - Hallura can’t help but tease him just a bit. 

“What’s foolish, Raha?” she hums, leaning forward ever so slightly so that she’s looking down at him through her eyelashes. 

G’raha’s pale complexion doesn’t hide his blush from her at all - she laughs as his cheeks flush red. “I - please don’t tease me,” he mumbles, pouting ever so slightly. “This is terrifying enough as it is.”

“Sorry,” Hallura says, pulling back and covering her smile with her hand. “Sorry, Raha, I didn’t mean to upset you. Really, though, you don’t need to feel embarrassed. It’s just me.”

“I’m not sure that makes things better,” he sighs, turning to gaze forlornly into the sunset, cheeks still rosy. 

She itches with the urge to ask again what he means, but reels in her mouth before her questioning starts pressuring him. So she waits, silently staring at him while he seems to gather his wits.

“...I wanted to sing for you,” he finally says, a few long moments later. His fingers never cease plucking at the lyre’s strings, and Hallura watches as he turns to face her again. “There are many songs my ancestors passed on to me, and I wished to share them with you.”

“I see,” Hallura replies, biting back a more callous “That’s all?”. It would not help him to express her surprise like that. “I knew you were a bard,” she offers instead, hoping to stoke his confidence. “But I always assumed you would sing for the crowds and I just never caught you when you did.”

“I haven’t sung for some time now,” G’raha admits, ears flicking again. “Too caught up with...everything, I think. Which is...amusing, considering that many of my family’s songs must come from Allag.”

“Well, no time like the present to share,” Hallura says, excited to think that she is the first person he will sing for since before they met. She places her hands on the railing and offers him an encouraging smile. “I’d love to hear you sing.”

His eyes light up. “You mean it?” he asks, tail swishing happily.

G’raha’s joy is infectious; her chest wells up with something overwhelmingly warm. “From the bottom of my heart,” she promises, tapping a hand against her breast. “I’m all ears.”

“Truly?!” Despite her assurances, he still seems surprised, but recovers quickly. “Then - oh, I hope you don’t mind; the songs are all in another language.”

Intrigued, Hallura asks, “What language?” 

G’raha laughs, pushing aside his bangs from his face. “To be honest, I’m not sure what the language is even called. But I know the words!”

“I can’t tell if that’s like or unlike you,” Hallura says, grinning. “The confidence in the words, sure - but the not knowing is perhaps the most un-G’raha Tia thing I’ve heard out of _you_.”

“How about _you_ try passing down an ancient history through the art of song,” G’raha sniffs at her, sticking up his nose. It’s a half-hearted snub, though, as he falls back into a very G’raha Tia-esque grin. “Are you ready to listen?”

“Always,” she answers, leaning once more against the rails.

G’raha gives her a long look, uncertainty and determination warring in his gaze. She nods at him and closes her eyes, waiting quietly for him to begin.

It starts with the lute - louder plucks at the strings that ring off the walls of the Crystal Tower. The notes blend together into a melody, beautiful and heart-wrenching. He plays at the instrument for several heartbeats, easing the air into the music, before he begins to sing.

The moment his voice spills past his lips, Hallura is entranced. 

She grew up in Limsa Lominsa surrounded with music, sailors and their sea shanties and the music of dancing girls in the square. She always thought that she’d been raised with an ear for pretty songs - until now.

G’raha sings more beautifully than any person or instrument she’s ever heard. 

His voice is clear and gentle, nothing like the rocky voices of her Lominsan neighbors. He carries the tune of the song effortlessly, rising and falling in pitch smoother than ocean waves against the shore.

She peeks at him out of one eye, watching as his perfect, full lips part to release a silvery harmony that transcends the limits of language. He sways with the song, hypnotizing; her eyes slide shut once more.

Hallura doesn’t understand what the words mean, but as G’raha sings, he paints a picture with his voice, and she finds herself transported to another time behind her eyelids. 

_An age long past, a nation long lost._

_Brilliant blue halls fill with laughter. People travel up and down the stairs, dressed in fine fabrics, adorned with jewels and precious metals._

_The sun filters through great windows, shining down on glittering platforms of gold and crystal. Figures dance, hands intertwined, smiling and beautiful, twirling to the haunting, beautiful melody._

_Birds, flying high over a land that is bursting with life - aether arcs through the air, bathing the souls of Allag in its embrace. Two moons, glowing brightly in the night sky, kissing the land with pale light._

_Power and riches, pride and hubris._

_The world, whole and unbroken, a paradise asleep atop a clock, ticking steadily towards doom._

Beneath eyes still closed, Hallura feels herself weep.

__

The sound of applause fills the air. 

“Huh?” Hallura blinks twice, coming back to reality from her memories.

Around their table at the Wandering Stairs, a crowd has gathered without her notice - the people of the Crystarium clap eagerly, some even cheering.

“That was lovely.” Hallura’s attention snaps over to Lyna, who claps softly herself. There’s a wistful smile on her face which bespeaks something Hallura can’t quite discern. “And amazing. You really remembered the whole song? Even though it was in another language?”

Unused to this type of attention, Hallura feels her cheeks heat up. “It - it’s nothing, really,” she insists, mussing her short hair with one hand. “I have a sharp memory, so once I heard it, I really couldn’t have forgotten it…”

“You sang it beautifully nonetheless.”

Hallura can’t contain her gasp of surprise - her spine goes rigid and she clamps her mouth shut.

From within the crowd of Crystarium citizens, the Crystal Exarch pads quietly to the front, stopping beside the table. Bereft of his hood, the placid smile on his face is visible to all.

“I - Exarch,” Hallura greets him quickly, unsure suddenly if she should stand or remain sitting or perhaps vanish out of embarrassment. What if he is upset with her for divesting their history?

“Hallura,” the Exarch replies, eyes crinkling into a deeper smile. His right hand curls around his trademark staff, and Hallura can’t help but follow the slight motion of his fingers.

“Exarch,” Lyna says as well, standing to salute him. She casts a sharp glance past the Exarch’s head, and their audience scrambles away. “The Warrior was regaling us with some songs the two of you shared in the past. I hope we haven’t interrupted you.”

“Not at all,” the Exarch chuckles with a dip of his head. “It was quite pleasant to hear songs from my homeland once again, from lips other than my own.”

“I must agree. The Warrior of Darkness recalls her memories well, it would seem,” remarks Lyna. She looks at Hallura out of the corner of her eye, then glances back at the Exarch. “I must return to my work soon; I shall go pay Glynard for the meal. Until we meet again, Warrior,” she adds, nodding at Hallura before pivoting on her heel and setting off briskly for the counter.

Left alone with the Exarch, Hallura fidgets. “I’m sorry,” she tells him, twisting her rings. “Lyna asked, and I figured it couldn’t hurt to just -”

“Hallura.” His warm voice stops her; she looks at him guiltily, only to be met with eyes full of sad joy. “I’m not upset. It was a wonderful performance; you should be proud.”

She swallows, looking down.

“I had a great teacher,” she replies, and when she glances back up, she sees G’raha Tia beaming back through the Exarch’s gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr! https://alamhigyoooo.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr! https://alamhigyoooo.tumblr.com/


End file.
